I sat watching Good Morning America, catching up on some news and weather, so that if the time comes, I can have an intelligent adult conversation without mentioning potty, vomit, or he-did-the-cutest-thing-yesterday. Unfortunately the only adults I share this information with are my mom, who has a vague interest in the world, my brother, who doesn’t care for anything outside of sports, and my dad, who loves to rile up his liberal daughter.
Sean came over and sat on my lap.
Sean: Bad guy!
Me: No, she’s a reporter.
Sean: Bag guy!
Me: No, that’s the nation’s financial advisor. Though some would agree with you.
Sean: Bad guy!
Me: No, that’s the news’s financial explainer.
Sean: Bad guy!
Me: No, that’s Chris Cuomo. He’s actually a daddy.
Sean: Daddy?
Me: Yup. He has two little kids.
Sean: (pause) Bad guy!
Me: Yup. He took a little girl. Don’t worry we’re going to teach you self defense.
I hugged and kissed him as I dreamed of all the ways I would slowly torture the person, who ever touched my child, to death.
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